A Legacy Worth Killing
by AetherianMonarch
Summary: The darkness was never truly gone. It would only fester and mold until a light shone upon it. And then maybe, perhaps, the scars would one day fade away.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Well, people…behold! My very first fanfic! Please be gentle when reviewing, but sincere—these musings tend to be rather shoddy at best…**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, along with all the fantabulous, schmexy male characters, belongs to J.K. Rowling, not I.**

**A Legacy Worth Killing: Prologue**

Lydia beamed contentedly down at the display of stuffed animals before her. Everyone was in their proper place, playing their proper role, lives and existences at her command. Her full child lips spread to reveal a rosy grin, dimples intact, as she made each one of her toys bend to her every whim. Johnny would speak especially to Susan; Rosanne would become jealous and react by giving Johnny mean looks and no attention; Johnny would then become sad and give both girls his promise of loyalty. Lydia giggled quietly. People were so much fun to play with.

A slow, secretive shiver snaked its way down the young girl's back. She turned suddenly, glancing at her surroundings with a cautious eye and an unexplainable sensation of foreboding. "Cocoa? Is that you? You silly kitty! Come out now! Mommy will give you a doll to play with if you do…!" Lydia voiced out in bright tones—however, the jolliness had dispersed from her mood as she cast a wary look about her, especially toward that of the encompassing forest that morphed seamlessly into the backyard at which she was playing.

"Cocoa?" Lydia's voice shook now.

A streak of moonlit silver darted through the trees in complete silence. The last of Lydia's previous bravado quickly evaporated. She could handle noise. A meek meow, the wail of cicadas, the sweet whisper of a breeze's caress. But this silence held nothing but a sour tinge, a cascade of loneliness, and the roiling, boiling, teeth-grinding inferno of internal agony. A sinister reek, one that Lydia only recognized as fear. The small girl started up in haste, all toys abandoned, now that _her _life was threatened. She ran as fast as her short, round legs could carry her, stumbling and tripping all the while.

A tall and broad shadow loomed over Johnny, Susan, and Rosanne. The pale, long and slender fingers of a wiry hand reached for and grasped all three toys. Despite the cuts and grime that crisscrossed and wove to create a tapestry of hard-living on the pallid skin, the grasp and resounding hold on the innocent playthings belied a fearsome, desperate strength. The lips—rough and chapped, cracked and bleeding in some places—managed a tightly drawn and completely mirthless smirk.

"Well, Johnny," a voice like the racing wind and rolling thunder of a summer storm rasped. "Answer me this. Why are you such a fool?" The voice burned with agonized intensity and the steel-gray eyes bore holes through the well-dressed doll. Johnny appeared to look quite well-off and, of course, dashingly handsome. Tendrils of dirty gossamer strands of moonlight bangs impeded the death glare bestowed upon the doll; the smirk grew impossible in length, splitting the face in half.

"Learn this well, Johnny," came the fervent whisper. "You're one bloody hell of a fool idiot if you ever thought for a moment that you weren't being used. " The vise-like grip tightened until Johnny's head popped off. The smirk grew sympathetic. "But at least you've still got your health."

**A/N: Rather short—however, the more reviews, the more I can beat myself over the head in order to update sooner…**


	2. Ludicrous

**A/N: I felt like uploading another chapter. The previous one may have been slightly disappointing…or confusing…or creepy…or—ARRGH!!! ENOUGH! Whoever said "I am my own worst critic" must have been a sage…**

**P.S. This story takes place in world without Deathly Hallows and after Half-Blood Prince. Kinda would have been good to know…**

**Disclaimer: *a Harry-like sigh* If only, if only, the woodpecker cries… as if I'd be a rotten, good-for-nothing, plot stealing author! The nerve of some people…**

**Chapter One: Ludicrous **(**A/N: NOT as in music!**)

*Three Years Later…*

Harry James Potter swept through the corridors of St. Mungo's intent upon his mission to contact a certain special Healer. Billowing robes swirled around his still-thin figure, just a bit too short for his long and lanky frame. Harry had always argued with his wife over these 'trivial' matters, claiming that a person _in _authority need only _command_ authority, not wear it. Needless to say it fell on deaf ears.

The Great War had aged Harry, for even the aftermath was a battle to be fought. Helpless survivors, turncoats, spies, anarchists, media damage control in the Muggle world…the list was endless. Even now the harried Auror's mission was that of post-war business. Harry gave an internal sigh while dragging his right hand through his jet-black, shaggy mane.

His features had lately taken on a slightly haggard appearance, though the weariness was only apparent to those who truly knew him. The raven-haired man gave another internal sigh as he glanced at his pocket watch and realized it was already the start of a new day. The pocket watch had been a birthday gift from his wife—a woman whom was now probably thoroughly cranky and impatient; she tended to have insomnia when he wasn't there sleeping next to her, or so she so sweetly proclaimed.

Harry now rubbed at his sleep-deprived eyes with his free right hand, as his left arm was burdened with a perilous stack of paperwork. He had long since dispensed of his spectacles in exchange for what his close friend had insisted was clearly much more practical. Harry chuckled to himself, a smile breaking past the storm clouds of exhaustion as he remembered the "most obvious decision ever".

_Really_, he thought to himself while shaking his head. _Whoever thinks of Muggle laser eye surgery as practical?_

It had, of course, been his ultimate decision. Harry had come to find out about Severus Snape's self-sacrifice first-hand. And though he had never really honored his former professor's methods as a double-agent, Harry felt that by removing the somewhat high maintenance spectacles it would give everyone a better view of his eyes—his mother's eyes. Now he held himself with pride, causing those who spoke to him to draw their attentions not to his scar, but to the searing gaze of Lily Potter's—his—emerald green orbs. After stating his reasons, Harry's wife simply nodded and told him he looked dashing. And somewhat electrocuted.

Harry smiled to himself again, wishing now more than ever to be near her, instead of traversing the halls of St. Mungo's, intent on delivering what was shaping up to be bad news. After speaking to several healers in the proximity, the weary Auror strode with more purpose through certain hallways, up some stairs, and finally toward the eleventh floor. He was fortunate. His target stood not but a few doors down, involved in some deep discussion with several other wizards.

She was a stunning, self-assured woman of wavy, close-cropped dark brown hair. She was the only one among the group of individuals who held real compassion in her warm chocolate eyes. But sharpness was present as well, a distinctive glint that never completely faded, not after having seen a huge chunk of her generation annihilated before her eyes. A bold and striking balance, this woman managed on a daily basis; just enough cushion to soften the fall. For many a man had sought her out as a challenge, lulled into a false sense of security by the curve of her shape and the empathy she felt for her patients.

Hermione Jane Granger was not to be toyed with.

"Hermione!" Harry called out once he saw the other wizards beginning to depart. Hermione's face broke out into a smile as she spotted her close friend making his way down the hall.

"Harry! But to what do I owe this pleasure?" the young Healer grinned mischievously. "Surely you had not thought to visit me simply out of want of company?"

Harry failed in concealing his abashed look. "I'm sorry Mione. I know I've got no real excuse." He sighed. "It's for work. A real basket-case, this one."

"I'm starting to wonder if the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic _really_ has it all together…" Hermione trailed off, still teasing.

Harry was trying his best to look sheepish and humble. "Mione, you know I wouldn't come to you if the situation wasn't completely and utterly hopeless." He held her eyes with emerald sincerity. "You're really my last hope—"

"Enough," Hermione said, cutting him off. She looked up at him, the smile bestowed with genuine warmth. "I know. But you should come to me first once in a while." The formidable witch arched an eyebrow. "I'm starting to feel like a last ditch effort here. But before we start discussing business—how've you been, Harry? It feels like I've been living on the other side of the world for all the catching up I've managed to do with my closest friends. How's Ginny? She's due to see me at the end the end of the week, isn't she?"

Harry grinned back, happy to have been let off so easy but then gave another tired sigh as he ran his fingers through his thick, black mane. He really was going to start losing his hair. "I've been just swamped with work, Hermione. All these remnants of Voldemort's influence…where could they all be coming from? And lately, there seems to be some sort of crescendo to the madness. The mother lode is what I'm actually here to talk to you about—but as for Ginny…well, let's just say those mood swings mirror the intensity of her hair…"

Hermione laughed. "Quite the poet, are you?"

Harry gave a tight grin. "Promise you won't tell? She'd start hexing me if she found out that I'd given less than perfect reports of her condition—"

"My lips are sealed, Harry. And as far as I'm concerned you gave me a perfectly normal report. I think you'd be cranky too if your waistline slowly but inevitably began to disappear. But getting back to what you were saying before: what's this fiasco that's got you so worked up, hmm? Seeing as you're here it's got something to do with my area of expertise…"

"What isn't your area of expertise, Mione?" Harry asked with mock exasperation.

Hermione sniffed. "I'm currently trying to learn kickboxing, I'll have you know."

"From a book," Harry deadpanned.

"Books contain vast and infinite stores of knowledge!"

Harry was shaking his head. "You need to get out more, Hermione. You've become like a hermit. That's why I'm hesitant to even tell you about this guy, seeing as how you're all 'committed to your patients' and all. You get far too attached, like it's your personal mission to see them well and whole again—"

"It is," Hermione quickly cut in. "And this time it's a man?" Her eyes brightened considerably. A new case, a new challenge, another way to make things right…

Harry had caught the look and proceeded to put his free right hand on Hermione's left shoulder as if to still her. He looked her gravely in the eyes. "Take it from someone who's had it beaten into their brain time and again—you can't save everyone, Hermione." His emerald eyes softened their intensity. "We've all had to cope with some loss or another."

"This isn't about loss and this isn't about coping. It's about fixing. Now will you please enlighten me of this case before I go crazy and hex someone?"

Harry sighed once more and then promptly caved. "It's a man, yes. What's left of him, that is." He handed her a file of papers from the top of the precarious stack he had clutched in his left arm. Hermione glanced briefly through them as Harry continued.

"Apparently he's been lurking the countryside for years, causing disturbances around Muggle neighborhoods, 'haunting' forests, the like. What's disturbing is that we've just now found him." Harry fixed Hermione with a serious look. "Hermione, he's—he's a proper wreck. Completely broken—mind, body, and now we're sure of his spirit. I've—in all the years I've come across Voldemort's handiwork I've never seen anything like this. Hermione," Harry paused, as if to gather strength. "Hermione, we think he knows something big, something that we've been missing all this time, overlooking, ignoring, whatever."

Hermione was enraptured by Harry's report. She'd never seen him react like this before. "Harry?" she said gently, putting a hand on his limp arm.

Harry's voice was somewhat rough. "Hermione, when I looked at him it was like I was looking at cruelty incarnate."

The glint in the young healer's eyes was fully visible now. "Well," she spoke calmly, the epitome of resolution. "Well, I guess I'll just have to get right on that. Is he lucid? No, I'm guessing. I'll be working on both the inside and the outside of him it seems…"

"Mione," Harry spoke again, grave. "This bloke…he's no joke. He's dangerous."

"You've apprehended his wand, haven't you? Then there's no problem. Bring him in—"

"Mione. He didn't have a wand on him."

Hermione froze. "No—no wand?"

"None." Harry swallowed. "And I don't think he needs one."

**A/N: I am no good at these cliffhangers at all. Please review! I promise the story'll get more intense! Honest!**

**Thank you, Lady Arianne Of Ambers Valley, for my first review! I'll keep those chapters coming…**


	3. Wily

**A/N: I honestly just don't know. Don't ask me how, but I was having writer's block and suddenly the whole story came together in my head! I don't know if this means faster updates, however… Reviews… I feed off reviews…**

**Just so you all know, I'm introducing a new character of my own this chapter. Tell me if you like him!**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, along with all the twisted and endearing villains, belongs to J.K. Rowling. Anyone with a problem can take it up with her.**

**Chapter Two: Wily**

Obsidian Phaexus Skye strode purposefully down the long corridor that led from the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic, black leather boots sounding mutedly on the polished marble surface. The tall young man dug into the pocket of his long sable robes to produce black leather gloves, sliding them over his caramel colored hands as he went, intent on reaching his destination—the Ministry's floo network. A torrent of heaving breaths assaulted his ears from further down the hall.

"Mr. Skye! Mr. Skye, sir—please wait!"

Another man, rather peakish and flustered-looking, came bounding towards his elegant superior, resembling a whipped dog. Though young in his years as well, the demanding and merciless responsibilities involved with being chief aid to the Minister of Magic's head advisor had left him thin, withered, and weathered. Putting up with Obsidian Skye's constant demands, impossible tasks, and sharp mood swings was not for the faint of heart. Which was why the previous chief aids were currently taking up residence in St. Mungo's for near cardiac arrests.

The tan-skinned man halted his advance abruptly, causing the chief aid to go nearly careening into him. Like a patient mother dealing with an overly hyperactive son, the head advisor glanced down at the sprawled out mess that was the chief aid and regarded him coolly. The older man shrank back as a shudder passed through him.

"How many times, Elias?" The deep honey-smoothed voice questioned quietly. His tone held all the pretenses of sincerity, though with an almost telling note of ever-present humor. Elias shrank back even further, his face automatically assuming an expression of trepidation. His superior's good moods often resembled that of the eye of a hurricane. "How many times must I remind you to refer to me as Onyx? I like being friendly with you, Elias. When you call me by my surname…" the head advisor paused to kneel beside his charge, amber-flecked gold eyes fixing him squarely with their false merriment. "You make me feel old," he finished delicately.

"O-of c-c-course n-n-not, Mr.—I mean Onyx! Onyx!" Elias had never had a stuttering problem before taking this job.

"That's good, Elias," Obsidian smiled encouragingly, reaching forward to grasp the older man's left shoulder, squeezing with what Elias clearly hoped was reassurance. "I want you to see with me eye to eye. That way, there will be absolutely no need for misinformation!" Obsidian spoke cheerily. He gave a dashing smile, one that made men feel empowered and women swoon. Although women tended to swoon without the smile, instead preferring to take in his penetrating, wolf-like eyes, high cheekbones, long dark blond hair, and angular face shape. Elias only felt the increasing pressure on his left shoulder.

"Elias, Elias," Obsidian chided gently, snapping his aid's frightened eyes back into attention. The squeezing intensified. "Whatever will I _do_ with you?"

"S-s-sir?" Elias questioned while quivering. The hand on his shoulder felt like elevator doors coming in from both sides with ever-increasing pressure. "H-h-hopefully f-forgive me for my e-extreme error? I-I-I honestly had n-no idea that the Auror D-Department h-had their hands on y-y-your target, Onyx! I swear—Aaagh!" The pressure had gone from uncomfortable to bone-crushingly strong in an instant. Obsidian ignored Elias' gasps of pain, slowly shaking his head.

"To think I trusted you, Elias," he murmured mournfully. "To think I gave you one specific instruction to be followed, and you coldly ignored it. All I asked for was to be informed—to be informed of the appearance and location of one man." He paused, fixing his trembling charge with a freezing gaze and a mirthless smile. "Just. One. Man." A resounding crack filled the air, combined with Elias' sharp cry of agony. Obsidian released his hand from the man's now shattered collar bone and stood. All traces of humor had left his face.

"Go get fixed. And then I will give you a chance to redeem yourself, my friend. You will find the exact location of his transfer and then report it promptly to me. You will speak of this to no one. You will provide me with exact copies of the Auror's reports." His voice became warm and sympathetic, lowered almost to a whisper. "Am I seeing eye to eye with you, Elias?"

"Y-y-yes," the broken man gasped out in between sobs.

"'Yes' what, Elias?" Obsidian prodded in a retreating sing-song voice, as he was now continuing on towards his destination.

More sobs. "Y-y-yes sir, O-Onyx sir!" Elias wailed.

**A/N: Poor guy! That's what you get for underestimating a pretty face. By the way, did you all know that 'obsidian' is a naturally formed glass made by **_**the cooling of lava**_**, but also known for its **_**calming**_** properties? And that 'onyx' is known to **_**end unhappy and bothersome relationships**_**? Ahh, knowledge is truly power…**


	4. Killjoy

**A/N: Sorry for the long update time guys…just a passing bit of writer's block, I promise! Anyway, things will sort of start to take off by the next couple of chapters, and hopefully I will have at least a little bit more time to write freely before school starts…Ah, school…**

**P.S. You may have noticed that my good friend cxcaroliena wrote me a review concerning Obsidian Phaexus Skye and a tenor saxophone…Well I'm here to confess! Obsidian is based off of my mental incarnation of my beloved black nickel tenor sax nicknamed Onyx! Man, I'm glad I got that out of my system…**

**Disclaimer: *Sticks out tongue at J.K. Rowling's retreating figure* You may have some cool characters, Ms. Rowling, BUT I GOT THE GOLD MINE! Right, Onyx?!**

**Obsidian: In your dreams, my dear. Pay up.**

**Me: That's it. My life officially sucks. Even my own character demands financial retribution…**

**Chapter Three: Killjoy**

Hermione Granger sat at her desk contemplating the herculean task before her. She reviewed Harry's report in her mind, allowing the events of the previous day to finally register in her head. As she sat recalling, legs to one side of the dark mahogany wood chair, ankles crossed, the young Healer swept a bit of wavy dark brown fringe from her face and promptly smiled.

"_Nice haircut Moine. It's a good look for you."_

"_I see Ginny has been training you quite well, Harry. Years ago you wouldn't have said a thing. Just another blip on the Harry radar…"_

"_That stings, Hermione. Surely I couldn't have been that insensitive—why're you laughing at me?"_

"_Harry…it's just…sometimes you were so dense about that kind of thing! Being in the company of two boys all the time, I had to remind myself in the mirror when I woke up every morning that I was female—well …that is, until 3__rd__ year, of course…"_

"_Why are you blushing, Mione? What exactly happened 3__rd__ year besides Sirius and Lupin and the Dementors? What does any of the moral peril we faced have to do with your femininity? Now you're laughing at me again!"_

"_Still…so…dense!"_

"_Ahh…I give up. But tell me though—why'd you do it? You kept your hair long for so long, I just thought you preferred it that way."_

"_I did prefer it."_

"_Then…why?"_

"_I became a Healer. It was in my way. I simply eliminated the obstacle."_

"…_Hermione Granger…you scare me silly sometimes…"_

The woman in question grinned to herself at the memory. It was also that same conversation that led her to convince her close friend of other alternatives to his sight impediment ("Oh really, Harry! Those glasses are so impractical and imposturous it's ridiculous!"). She knew that some people held sentimental attachments when it came to their physical appearance, and for others it was purely vanity. But Hermione was all about economy—from looks, to pleasurable pursuits, to any potential suitors that came her way, she was practically the patroness of thrift and absolute necessity. Any detours on the path to her goals were swiftly dismissed and disregarded.

A frown found its way onto Hermione's face as she now found herself right back at her original problem. According to Harry's verbal and written reports, the magnificent non-wand, mystical, mystery man had amnesia to an uncertain extent, as the Aurors feared an attack in the wake of personal questioning. They had managed to grasp the fact that he was alone, beaten supposedly beyond immediate identification, and half-starved to death. And—oh, yes. He could summon a maelstrom of magical mayhem without any physical tools in his arsenal.

Hermione's frown deepened. As much as she enjoyed a good challenge, there was something clearly dark and disturbing about a human who could simply call up magic at will. Unless he wasn't human at all. The young witch suddenly had her thoughts drawn to Harry, who had looked extremely at odds when giving this entire dissertation. When it came to powerful, spontaneous magic, his was the only other case that came to her mind. Hermione grimaced.

"_Voldemort_," she hissed through clenched teeth. He was the only monster she had known to distort the laws of the arcane so drastically and so deftly. So this was what Harry had meant by the 'mother lode'.

Suddenly, Hermione felt a sharp vibration in the right pocket of her long robes, the source of which was her wand. She was needed. It was time to face her quarry. As she stood, stretched and gathered the items she thought necessary into a dark brown leather messenger bag, the lights in her small, cramped office phased in and out. Hermione froze. A deep, grinding groan reverberated throughout the whole of St. Mungo's and then faded to a low rumble. She gasped as the floor beneath her heaved and buckled as if alive.

_No_, Hermione thought frantically. _It couldn't be…_

As swiftly as she could muster without being thrown completely off her feet by the still-writhing floor, the young Healer gathered her supplies and sprinted through the door of her office, determined to reach the holding facilities before the hospital was torn asunder.

Hermione reached the end of the final set of stairs shaken and jittery. The groaning sound had never ceased, and now the walls themselves shook in trepidation. Hermione dashed the rest of the way, thrusting herself through the double swinging doors of the holding facility, ending up directly in the midst of—

"Chaos."

The young witch heard herself whisper the one word the embodied the ten Aurors clutching desperately at what looked to be a thrashing bundle of restraints, the dozen or so Healers scrambling to clear and prepare an area for containment, and the in and out phasing of the overhead magical lighting system that had never failed for over 1500 years.

As if in a trance, Hermione began to tread steadily towards the writhing demon, all while reaching into her robes and withdrawing her mahogany wand. Though she knew that countless spells had already been exhausted by others attempting to still this living catastrophe, it was as if her target were a portkey, and an invisible force was tugging incessantly at her navel, urging her to extend the slender piece of wood. Hermione was vaguely aware of Harry shouting warnings in her direction and the ear-splitting sound of roiling groans drawn up to a crescendo to the cacophony—but it all seemed dulled, dimmed by her own resoluteness and dire desire to reach her patient. Yes…that was who this man was. Her patient.

Without further hesitation, Hermione traversed the last few steps until she had come within only a foot of the twisting man. And the only thing that seemed to draw across the young Healer's head was _silence_. In all the pandemonium, in the entire clamor that he had managed to create of his own will—he himself was completely and utterly soundless in his struggle. Hermione's one moment of hesitation lasted a quick minute.

"Uncover the bonds around his face."

Harry was beside her now, gripping her shoulders and forcing her to face him. "Hermione," he rasped urgently, drained in his attempts to subdue the fiend. "Hermione, are you absolutely out of your head?" His jade eyes burrowed deep within her own, searching for any sign of sanity, or at least clarity.

Hermione returned his searing gaze with an indomitable one of her own. "Trust me on this one, Harry. Please." She was not above begging at this point, all the while willing to doubt her own firmness of mind. She shook her head roughly to dismiss the condemning thought and returned his stare with strength and resolution. "You just have to trust me."

Harry opened his mouth to argue and promptly closed it, instead releasing his hands from his friend's shoulders in a gesture of defeat and submission. "Alright. Alright, Moine. I trust you. With my life. With everybody else's." He gave her a confident smile. "If anyone can save us at this point, it'll definitely have to be you." He turned to face the Aurors who were busy keeping the demon at bay. "You heard the witch! Uncover the bonds around the bloody fellow's face!"

Hermione smiled back, but quickly rearranged her expression into one of concentration as she turned back to her patient and saw the struggling men remove the restraining pieces of cloth. She gasped. And then, with her eyes clamped shut and a trembling arm, Hermione Granger reached forth and touched the tip of her wand to the man's forehead.

It was as if the Armageddon judgment from heaven had ceased entirely and instantaneously within the very moment of the wood's touch on hot, fevered skin. Hermione finally opened her eyes and looked upon the face of her patient, oblivious to the surrounding aftermath. Surely the first glance had been one of uncertainty or speculation? But the young Healer was not mistaken.

"Draco Malfoy."

Hermione spun around, her vocal revelation having been echoed by a deep, honey-smoothed voice. A tan-skinned, striking man was standing near the double doors as if he'd been there the entire time enjoying an amusing play. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and then proceeded to give a dazzling smile.

"Well done, Miss Granger!" He exclaimed delightedly. "It seems you've discovered him at last!"

**A/N: You like? Review, please! Oh, and if some of you got lost as to why Hermione was cracking up when Harry was confused about third year—it's just a little monthly something I like to call The Crimson Phantom… Aha… Anyways, be back soon!**

**Thanks again to Lady Arianne of Ambers Valley for her faithful reviews!**


	5. Luminous

**A/N: Here I go trying to keep a weekly schedule and procrastination takes hold again. CURSE YOU, OH FOUL EXCUSES! Anyway, for the sake of IvoryHilton17, I will try to keep a more—how shall I say this—**_**avid**_** approach to my writing…**

**Disclaimer: So I challenged J.K. Rowling to a thumb-wrestling contest with the stakes being her rights to all things Harry Potter. And the reason it took so long to update? Yeah—she crushed my hand. Entirely. And if you're believing any of this for a second, we need to sit down and have a little chit chat.**

**Chapter Four: Luminous**

_Angelic _was the first word that managed to crawl languidly across Hermione's shell shocked brain as she watched the stranger make long and confident strides in her direction. She had experienced a cornucopia of magical encounters and beings all throughout her more or less ten years in the wizarding world, but this strange, singular, smiling intruder stole first place in her memory as the most fantastic. Dark flaxen hair, almost the tone of light amber, was parted to the right of his angular face, bangs shifted saucily to the side, almost obscuring a very bright and brilliant golden left eye. What remained visible of his tanned brow could be interpreted as irrepressibly innocent, almost as if every statement he made was actually a question, or an inquiry. His nose was long and straight, complemented by full lips currently stretched into an amazingly toothy grin. But it was the very apparent right eye that drew Hermione's complete attention. She could drown, suffocate, choke in its depth; its keen abyss of swirling knowledge and secrets was enough to silence any retort she had tried to form at his flagrant breach of security.

But Harry, most gratefully, had an excess amount of sensible testosterone.

"'Oblivion' Skye," he spat, distaste and loathing dripping from his tone. Hermione shuddered from her place next to him, as if to wake from a startling dream. _That name…_

The golden man gave a deep and resounding chuckle, the sort of chortle one would expect to derive from real humor. "I see my less than favorable nickname has unfortunately preceded formal introduction," he said with sultry smile and a flourish. He had stopped his approach at this point, halting within only a foot and a half of Hermione's person. Very much conscious of this fact, the young Healer found herself sucking in a breath as the stranger bowed and extended his right hand to reach for her left. Still somewhat in a haze, she let him take hold and kiss her knuckles. "I am called Obsidian Phaexus Skye, head adviser to the Minister of Magic, and here at your most desirable service… Miss Hermione Granger," he spoke in a low murmur. "But I must humbly insist that you simply call me Onyx." Hermione was suddenly reminded of a very content Crookshanks, but before she could comment or respond on her recognition of Britain's Most Coveted, Harry had taken steps to put himself in between her and the newcomer.

"You are clearly violating a restricted area, Skye," the Auror hissed, jabbing a finger at the warning signs near the exit. "What business does the Minister have with a confidential suspect who technically was nonexistent up to this point?" His narrowed emerald orbs burned with intense mistrust. "Who leaked you the info, Skye? Or maybe it was that loathsome snoop you've recently added to the list of those you torment?"

The calm young man remained grinning during the entire wave of almost tangible fury emanating from Harry. He focused on his opponent with what seemed to be total disdain and nonchalance. "The Minister has every right to know of potential threats to the security of the wizarding world," he said tranquilly.

"We have him contained," Harry ground out through gritted teeth.

"Oh really? Wasn't that you just now, trying to wrestle him down like a wild bull? Oh that's right, I remember!" The head adviser leaned forward as if to spill some great secret. "The 'Chosen One' dislikes getting his hands dirty."

At this, Hermione finally recovered from her uncharacteristic lethargy in time to restrain her friend from strangling the beaming man. In an instant, the glint resurfaced in her eyes, and the warm brown became coarse and rough. "Are you quite finished, Mr. Onyx?" she iterated in clipped tones, opting to place herself in between the roiling tension.

The subject in question only brightened his smile. "Just 'Onyx'," he spoke serenely. "And I must apologize for my exceedingly rude behavior. You see, my usual way of expressing anxiety is to make light of the situation, often putting me at odds with the rest of my peers." He fixed Hermione with a serious gaze, ignoring Harry's enraged snort. "The reappearance of the broken man before us brings to the surface some of the Ministry's most vibrant fears. Fears of the past, and of dark history, to be more precise. But also questions. Where has the last heir to the Malfoy name been for the past three and a half years? What's he been up to? Are there other remnants of the Dark Lord's followers that simply roam loose?" He turned his quizzical brow in Harry's direction. "Why has this…_slipped_ through our fingers?"

Harry broke away from Hermione's hold and glared back. "And now the Minister feels the need to send a private investigator to analyze how soon London will burn? Don't kid yourself, Skye. The Auror Department has been slaving away day in and day out insure the safety of not only Europe's families, but our own as well. We weren't careless, and we certainly weren't crass and crude in our questioning like some I've heard of." Harry's unwavering glower intensified. "That's what you've been up to, isn't it Skye? You've been ransacking the minds of innocents, just waiting for the gold mine, haven't you? Come to claim the prize for all your snooping?" Harry's voice had risen to a yell.

"Calm down, Harry…get a hold of yourself," Hermione pleaded. She knew Harry's not easily provoked but sharp temper could prompt him to partake in the irrational. But she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Hermione surreptitiously glanced over to the stainless steel observation table where the limp man still lay and people milled about trying restore the room to order in the midst of the current feud. Draco Malfoy was the target of an illegal and seemingly long-winded investigation? She whirled on Onyx. "What reason could you have to take advantage of a clearly sick and deprived man?" she questioned hotly. "I'm not going to heal him just so you can turn his brain to mush the moment he's bereft of my care, Ministry affairs or not!"

Despite herself, Hermione felt herself soothed by Onyx's placid smile, though she was still surprised at her deft defense of her old enemy. "My dear Hermione, you automatically assume that I'm here to _take_, when the fact of the matter is that I immediately flooed myself over here in order to _protect_."

"Protect?" Hermione asked, confused.

"_Protect?!_" Harry scoffed in disbelief.

"Yes, boys and girls, _protect_. You see, I realized that under the Ministry's brand new policies, a repeat of the past was simply unacceptable." Onyx paused to look directly at Harry.

Hermione was not patient when it came to an unanswered query, however. "What repeat of the past are you referring to exactly?"

"I'm quite sure that the man next to you can describe in vivid detail what happened to a wizard or witch the Ministry distrusted." He gave a pitying grin, as if a favorite pet had died or something similar of the sort. "Couldn't you, Harry?"

But Hermione caught on almost immediately. "Hagrid, Dumbledore, Sirius Black," she listed slowly while realizing. "Even you yourself at one point, Harry. The Daily Prophet had set about destroying most reputations, but the Ministry certainly didn't help…if anything, they further ostracized and alienated those suspected of having even a minute history of dark magic encounters." She managed to catch Harry's averted eyes. "Imagine what would happen if word got out that _the Draco Malfoy_ was indefinitely vacationing at St. Mungo's?_"_

"Mass panic," Onyx added helpfully.

Harry resumed his glare at the head adviser. "I assure you. The Auror Department has everything completely under control. There's no need for your cra—assistance," Harry finished hastily, catching a look from Hermione.

"But I insist," the culprit in question persisted. "Besides, you know how our current Minister of Magic likes to keep informed. I'll be around every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to check in on our guest. Around noon. Oh, and don't worry about any holes in your communication, Harry, it's just part of being an insufferable cad." Onyx grinned broadly at the pair of appalled individuals before turning on his heel, striding purposefully toward the double doors, and waving gaily before vanishing from the room.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Got any migraine tonics?"

"What you'll need is stronger. Wait here—I just got a new shipment in from Belize that numbs everything from the waist up."

As Hermione walked briskly away, finally spotting the evasive smile on Harry's face, her own grin vanished entirely. _Yes_, she thought solemnly. ' _Angelic' fits him entirely. Of the fallen variety. _

**A/N: Man was this chapter hard to cough out! But this was the first time all three characters had a scene together and I think I managed to do an okay job… By all means, review! Lay some opinion on me! And for the record, anything that numbs from the waist up should not be in the hands of angry and/or frustrated individuals…**


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